


If You Could Go Anywhere

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Contemplative, Fluff, Food Sharing, Future Fic, Holding Hands, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Starting Over, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carved into a picnic bench in Kentucky, they find the words: "If you could go anywhere in the world right now, would it be to a '<i>where</i>' or to a '<i>who</i>'?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Could Go Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/92294255865/pagingpage-legains-if-you-could-go-anywhere).
> 
> I wrote this in April. It was beta'd by winglesschester and thewonderofliving in May, then thewonderofliving again in July. I am incredibly grateful – they helped me prevent this ficlet from sucking, and it only took me four months to fix. u_u;;  
> In the meantime, I was invited to DestielCon, _went_ to DestielCon, and actually set foot in Kentucky while I was there. When I wrote this fic I had no idea that by the time it posted I would have visited the setting, which is literally on the other side of the planet from where I've been hiding in my room for eight years. That blows my mind just a little bit, you know?  
>  Anyway. Enjoy!

The war ended. It was over. Peace had never been expected – humanity bred to terrorise its own species, after all – but the demons were gone. The monsters were gone. There were still ghosts, and there would _always_ be ghosts, but the world was as close to peaceful as it could ever get.

It was the year of our Lord 2019. Midsummer.

Dean drove his brother Sam and their friend Castiel to the end of the world, the farthest from civilisation they could reach before the car’s tyres wore thin and Dean pulled onto the shoulder.

A cliffside descended twenty feet from the road, slanted rock and gravel forming a straight plunge into seemingly endless forest.

“Kentucky,” Dean muttered, putting his hands on his hips and gazing out to the green horizon. Sunlight warmed the earth under his boots, and flies drifted, living out their short lives before him. The air smelled of tree sap, and Dean’s own sweat. He wore only a plaid overshirt, unbuttoned halfway down his front, and jeans with their knees ragged from intensive use.

Sam’s boots crunched rock as he stepped up to Dean’s side. “Never really expected it to end here,” he said. His voice was shrouded by the heat; there was so little echo it was as if he spoke into a curtained room. Despite the open space and the steep drop, they were secure here.

“I want shaved ice,” Castiel said distantly, not looking at the scenery. “Cola flavoured.”

Dean smirked. “Sure, Cas. Let’s get the mini-fridge outta the trunk and we’ll chop some up for you.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

Dean smirk widened. “Nah. Sarcasm’s for losers.”

“May I please have three dollars?”

Dean let Sam deal with Cas and his odd, fanciful impulses. He was probably going to make a wish and toss the notes off the cliff, and Dean wasn’t bothered about it any more. Cas could do what he liked, because the war was over. They were free.

Dean swiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, listening to Castiel’s footsteps leave his and Sam’s side. “It’s funny,” Dean said, turning his head to speak to Sam, “I’m forty years, six months old. I’ve been alive four _decades_. I’ve been topside for longer than I was in Hell. And I’m still standing.”

Sam skimmed his hand through his long hair, and he sighed; his eyes caught the reflection of the blue sky, glimmering with feeling. “Do you feel different? Now compared to yesterday, I mean.”

Dean smiled, rocking his shoulder against Sam’s. “Yeah.”

“I think,” Sam started, “this day is important. The way the Fourth of July is important. Celebrations every year, fireworks. Things are better now.”

“New start?”

Sam’s lips pulled into a grin, and he blinked low, eyes drifting to meet Dean’s. Dean took a deep breath, seeing his kid brother looking back, washed plain of the scars and fatigue of a life at war.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “New start.”

Castiel’s roughened voice approached with his footsteps. “I got lemonade for Sam and strawberry for you,” he said, standing in front of Dean and casting a cool shadow across his chest. He handed a white cone to Sam. Dean watched it transfer between their hands, and a frown appeared on his face.

“Where did you get that?”

“Marco,” Castiel said. He pointed over Dean’s shoulder. Dean turned around and saw a white refreshments cart with a propped-up sun shade over its side window. As he stared, Castiel put an ice-cold paper cone into his hand.

Dean looked down at the shaved ice with red strawberry sauce, bewildered. “I swear that truck wasn’t there when we pulled up.”

“Your mind was on other things,” Castiel said to soothe him. “Let’s sit.”

Dean glanced up and was stunned to see a picnic bench not ten feet away, a long seat each side of a flat, raised platform. He approached behind Sam and Cas, and touched the sun-bleached wood with his fingers as he got there. “Man, am I out of it today,” he said to himself.

“We did just save the world, still working at peak mental fettle would be asking a bit too much,” Sam chuckled, swinging a leg over the bench seat and sitting down, both elbows on the table. The view was even more spectacular from here. Birds dove from the clouds and caught bugs in their beaks; the flitting sound of wingbeats was delicate to listen to. From here, they could hear the forest below, sussurating, breathing with its leaves.

Castiel poked his tongue into his cola ice and shoveled out a heap of the sugared treat. It melted almost instantly on his tongue, sharpness bleeding into cool, satisfying refreshment. The cola flavouring clung to his teeth, and it was a pleasure to swallow again and taste it. “I think I’ll enjoy this,” he said aloud, not to either brother in particular. “Even mortality has its perks.”

Dean sighed, eyes slipping closed. Castiel gazed at him, watching him tilt his shaved ice and lick around the sphere. His tongue reddened with the colouring, and as he swallowed, it gave his lips an attractive tint.

Castiel became tired in the sticky heat of the sun, but went on observing Dean, unwilling to close his eyes.

Sam ran his finger across the benchtop, feeling the grooves of dozens of names, visitors marking their time spent here. People drove to this cliff edge thinking it was the end of the Earth, the way Dean had today, only to find humanity already existed here, and everyone else had done the same. As a collective, humans were not as original as they thought. Ultimately, a road already paved was a road to be driven down.

Sam read the names, noting the boldness of some, the scratching timidity of others. Some were written in pen, and had faded in the sun like the bench’s wood itself.

Castiel saw what Sam was looking at, and began to examine the names too. “I wonder which is the oldest,” he murmured, lapping cola sparkles from his lip. “And I wonder who came here before the bench ever did.”

“We should put our names down,” Dean said, eyelashes flickering and catching the sunlight as he observed Castiel’s fingertips skim the tabletop. “Here, take this for a second.” Dean handed Castiel his shaved ice, cold hands touching as he passed it over. With his hands free, Dean fished out a knife from his belt.

His hand slowed as he rested his wrist on the bench. He watched the little pocket knife spin between his fingers, and his mouth curved into a subtle smile. “Think I’ll ever kill anything else with this knife?” he asked, dotting the tip of the blade on the wood. “Or do you think its last job will be giving the world’s saviours a trophy?”

“Perhaps it’s arrogant,” Castiel said, “but I think any trophy would be a trophy well-deserved.”

Dean smiled, meeting Castiel’s eye. “Yeah.”

Castiel gazed back, tongue reaching to take another taste of shaved ice. Dean noticed he licked the wrong one, but neither of them said a thing about it. Dean shook his head, looking down to the table and flicking his knife point down.

He carved his name into one of the few blank spaces, pressing hard and curling lines of wood from the table surface with every firm stroke.

His hand began to ache as he reached his surname. “Ugh.” He swapped his knife into the other hand and shook his right hand out. “Gettin’ achy. I’m leaving it as ‘Dean W’.”

“Now me,” Sam said, plucking the knife from Dean’s hand and shoving him along the bench. Sam wrote his name directly below, in similar hard caps. Dean tried to jog him, but Sam elbowed his throat and sent Dean choking around to the other side of the table.

“Gimme that,” Dean said, rescuing his shaved ice from Cas and sitting down with his back to Sam, thigh against Castiel’s. “Dammit, Cas, you licked all the strawberry.”

“I like strawberry,” Castiel said defensively. He lifted his half-finished cola cone. “Would you like some of mine?”

Dean figured he might as well. He ducked his chin and bit at the cone as Castiel held it. The ice was turning mushy from the heat, but the cola was sweeter than the strawberry, and lightly carbonated. Dean purred and smacked his lips, straightening and resting his elbow behind him on the table. “I like mine better.”

“I like yours better too,” Castiel said. He shifted his leg so it pressed more against Dean; Dean pretended it was because Cas needed some space between his thighs, rather than sitting so primly.

“There,” Sam sighed, turning the pocket knife across his fingers until the point slid smoothly against his thumb. “‘Sam W’.”

“Go do yours, Cas,” Dean said. “I’ll hold your ice.”

Castiel wriggled awkwardly off the bench seat, going around the table to sit beside Sam. Dean turned back to watch over his shoulder as Castiel donned a frown of concentration, shoulders hunched so his trenchcoat crumpled against his neck. He was wearing Dean’s slate-grey t-shirt under the coat; Dean had asked earlier, apparently he wasn’t too hot.

“‘Cas’,” Castiel said.

“Not ‘Castiel’?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head. “I like being ‘Cas’.”

Dean smiled, licking Cas’ ice cone. “No last name?”

“I don’t have a last name.”

“Yeah you do,” Dean said eagerly. Sam chuckled, and Dean kicked him under the table. “It’s Winchester.”

“Cas... Winchester?” Cas said slowly, cautiously.

Dean grinned, handing over Cas’ shaved ice. “It’s a good sound, ain’t it?”

Cas slid the remains of his melting ice into his mouth, and pressed the clump between tongue and palate thoughtfully. It melted before it had a chance to give him brainfreeze; he swallowed, then exhaled. “I’d... Yes, I’d like to be a Winchester. All right.”

He bent and carved a last ‘W’ after his name.

Dean warmed at the sight of their names all together. Brothers, not brothers, it didn’t matter; they were family.

Castiel brushed the wood shavings off the table, handing Dean his knife. Dean set it on the table, rolling it back and forth under his fingers so the sunlight shone kaleidoscope patterns across Cas’ face.

Castiel tilted his head to read something carved at an angle on the bench. “If you could go anywhere,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Say again?”

Castiel glanced up to look at Dean. “It says, ‘If you could go anywhere in the world right now, would it be to a ‘ _where_ ’ or a ‘ _who_ ’?’”

“Heh,” Sam said. “We probably could, you know.”

“Could what?”

“Go anywhere.” Sam looked at Dean, and after a second, shrugged and went on, “Our fight is over, isn’t it? We could get on a plane and fly. See the whole world.”

“I hate planes,” Dean complained.

Castiel shook his head. “That’s not what the question asks. It says, go anywhere _right now_. If you could make use of angel wings, if you had some of your own, perhaps. The method doesn’t matter. If there was anywhere else you could be at this very moment, where would it be?”

Sam hummed. “There’s places I’ve always wanted to go. I guess – I’d wanna see some old English castles. There’s none of that here. The history of England is so much richer, and longer. Kings and queens and ruins. Or Scotland. Or the Globe Theatre in Southwark.”

“It’s pronounced ‘Suth-uck’, not ‘South-wark’,” Castiel corrected.

“Oh.”

“The hell is Southwark?” Dean said, his upper lip drawn into a sneer.

“Shakespeare’s theatre in London,” Sam explained. “It’s been rebuilt twice, and it’s not in the same place as the original, but I dunno. I’d still love to see it.”

“You’re such a geek,” Dean said sulkily.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Sam smirked. “Where would you go, huh? I’m betting _Star Trek_ : The Experience.”

“But that closed in 2008,” Dean said, pointing his knife tip towards Sam. “Which totally sucks, but leaves me with my other top holiday destination: Isla de Bradbury. Freshly-brewed moonshine, illegally imported computer tech, white sand, bamboo huts, and limitless sun. Plus, Charlie.”

Sam pursed his lips. “I do kinda miss her.”

“Only _kinda_?” Dean scoffed. “Ha. I’ll tell her you said that when we get there. I’ll let her strap you to an electric chair and zap you full of bummerbots, or whatever it was she invented.”

“Bilaterally Unified Micro―”

“We call them bummerbots in our emails, all right, it’s quicker,” Dean said sharply, not willing to admit he couldn’t remember the full acronym. “I’ve never seen one up close, just the dead one she mailed us.”

Castiel chuckled. “You know, I look forward to telling her about how much you screamed.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean warned, aiming the blade at Castiel. Without thinking, Castiel swiped the blade away like it was nothing, and Dean moved with his hand on instinct so Castiel wouldn’t get hurt. Neither of them made a big deal out of it, but Dean was gentle as he reached for him, and Castiel showed him his uninjured palm before Dean even touched him. Dean inclined his head when he saw Castiel was fine, and he looked away, tongue parting his dry lips.

There came a breathing silence, which Sam broke as he said, “I think we might enjoy Disneyland.”

Dean laughed out loud, head rolling back against his shoulders. He arched forward, gasping for a breath to say, “I’m forty friggin’ years old, Sam!” He huffed in and out, waiting for the spasms of amusement to settle. When he was only grinning madly, he shook his head. “If we had kids, maybe. Papa Smurf Sammy, Daddy Dean. And – y’know – Uncle Cas. But the three of us together with no kids, you’re outta your mind. It’s almost creepy.”

“I don’t know, I think it would be cool. The architecture is fascinating, for one thing―”

“Architecture! For God’s sake, Sammy. You’re not just the world’s hero, you’re a world-class _nerd_. Geez. You wanna know the real reason you wanna go to Disneyland? You have a giant _crush_ on Prince Eric, you just wanna meet up with him in his costume and flirt with him.”

Sam frowned. “Who’s Prince Eric?”

Dean’s smile slipped. “Uh, the prince from _The Little Mermaid_? You know, with the shaggy dog. Dark hair.” Sam blinked. “Blue eyes?”

Sam started to smile, and the smile got wider and wider until Dean felt vaguely uncomfortable. “Ha,” Sam said. “ _Now_ who’s the one with the crush?”

“Oh, ha-ha, Dean is gay, very funny,” Dean said tartly, shooting Sam a bitter glare. “I’m not gay, _you’re_ gay.”

Sam didn’t bother rising to the bait, since Dean had hooked himself with his useless comeback. Dean realised this, and glared out at the thriving verdure before him, glad to see anything but Sam’s smirk.

“May I ask something?” Castiel said quietly.

Dean hummed questioningly, and Castiel delayed a second before asking: “Why am I ‘Uncle Cas’?”

Dean turned his head to look at him, seeing that curious wide-eyed expression he wore so well. “Uh,” Dean said, licking his dry lips, “Uh, that’s because... Um...”

“I think Dean assumed you’ve never had any inclination to procreate,” Sam said, rolling his eyes slightly.

“I haven’t,” Castiel replied. “But if either of you fathered children I at least expect to be a godparent. Although, I suppose being an uncle would suffice...”

“What would the kids call you, if not ‘Uncle’?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged slowly, almost like he was hesitating. “Um― Maybe― Maybe ‘Father’?”

Dean started to smile without knowing why. Then he realised why, and smiled more, gazing at Cas in wonder. The guy wanted to play papa to a bunch of rugrats. It wasn’t just precious, it was wonderful. Dean attempted to comment, but his overwhelmed heartbeat was stifling his tongue.

Sam just sat and grinned, watching Dean and Cas stare at each other with hearts in their eyes. It didn’t need to be said, really. Conclusions could be drawn by any of them, or they could be left unsaid, but it was impossible to ignore how intensely Dean and Castiel connected at that moment in particular – the same way they had a thousand other moments before. If Cas was going to be father to anyone, he would be the father of Dean’s children. They’d make it work, somehow.

Dean was the first to break the contact, wetting his lips with his tongue and glancing down at the table. Castiel smiled, his eyes still roaming Dean’s face from across the tabletop. Eventually he too looked at the table, and together the three of them pondered the question once again.

“Me,” Castiel said, resting on his folded forearms, “If I could go anywhere, or be with anyone... Well,” his voice softened, “I would choose right here. With both of you.” His smile was plain and clear, as were his eyes as he looked up to see Sam at his side. Sam smiled back.

Dean cleared his throat, scratching a finger at the nape of his neck, “And if you could only choose... one person. In the whole world, who would you pick?”

Castiel played out several constipated expressions of thought on his face, and while Dean truly worried for a second, Sam knew where Cas’ eyes would land. When Cas rested his blue eyes on Dean, and told him sweetly, “I suppose I’ll go wherever you go, Dean. You’d think you would know that by now,” Dean’s eyebrows shot up and his lips separated, and he looked like he was experiencing something that was wildly inappropriate while still in Sam’s presence.

However, Sam just grinned to himself, totally okay with having become the third wheel on Dean and Castiel’s magical bicycle.

The two of them probably didn’t realise, but by the time Sam interrupted their moonstruck gazing with a pointed throat-clear, more than a minute had elapsed.

“So Cas picks a ‘who’,” Sam nodded. “Dean would pick Isla de Bradbury; a ‘where’―”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam, I was kidding. I’d see Charlie. Don’t care about the island, _or_ taking a plane to get there. She could live in a goddamn floating treehouse for all I care, I’d still want to visit her.”

“A ‘who’, then,” Sam corrected. “I would say ‘where’ for myself too, but Europe would only be half as fun if you guys weren’t there as well. I know, I know, _sentiment_.” Dean and Castiel gave him the same chuckle, and Sam smiled at them both.

“But I have another question,” Sam said, now watching the others carefully. “Say, hypothetically, we were all to pick _one_ person,” Sam said. “One person whose side we’d go to, at any time. Like how it always goes, in the midst of danger. We’d all choose each other, wouldn’t we? Cas, you’d choose Dean. I’d pick Cas, because Dean would pick me. It’s fair. We each have a buddy, and we’d never lose each other.”

Dean smirked, and his eyes skipped over to Sam. “You’re assuming a lot, saying I’d pick you over Cas. Or Charlie. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Sam shrugged. “You’ve done it a hundred times. The number of times you picked someone else over me are outnumbered ten to one. It’s basic probability.”

“Nah.” Dean shook his head. “Nah, you don’t get it, Sammy. The war’s over. We’re not full-time hunters any more. Sometimes, on the off-chance there’s a ghost hanging around, maybe we’d lay a few souls to rest – but other than that? We’re done with it forever. I never have to choose between you _again_. That drove us apart, having to choose.”

Dean was right. If Sam were to name the outcome of the war’s end he appreciated the most, it was that. “My point is,” he said, “I think it would be really cool if the three of us could stay together after this. After today.”

Dean smirked, eyes kept low. “Yeah, Sammy. Yeah, of course. Obviously.”

Castiel caught Sam’s gaze and nodded. “Nothing would please me more.”

All at once, Sam found himself brimming with the force of relief, happiness that went all the way to his toes. Grinning and breathless, he went on, “So I guess that invalidates the original question.” He shrugged a shoulder and looked fondly at his brother. “It’s pretty much rhetorical for us now. If there was anywhere in the world we could go, right now, would it be to a ‘ _where_ ’ or a ‘ _who_ ’? The answer doesn’t matter. Your answer, my answer – Cas’ answer, even – they don’t matter, because, I think, deep down, we want the same things. And like you said, Dean, nothing’s gonna come between us again. Cas goes to you. I’ll be by your side. You drive your car. And we go wherever the hell we want to go.”

Dean swallowed. “So... you’re saying you’d be down for that. Going to all those places. Visiting our friends. Picking a ‘who’ _and_ a ‘where’.”

Sam nodded, ever so gently.

“Awesome.” Dean started to smile. “I like that. And I guess – now I think about it – we’ve actually got time to enjoy life, and stuff. There’s places we all want to go, right?” He tilted his head. “So what’s stopping us? And – heh. All roads lead to Disneyland.” He slid his hand into the middle of the table, palm down.

Sam slapped his hand over Dean’s, squeezing. “Tell Charlie to catch a plane!”

Castiel looked up and saw two pairs of eyes on him, hopeful. He started to smile. He nodded, then put his hand over Sam’s, over Dean’s. “To Disneyland, whatever that is. And then Angel Falls, Venezuela.”

Dean laughed, Sam laughed, and Castiel felt happy.

Sam pulled his hand out first, leaving the other two to clasp fingers across the tabletop, their names carved below where they touched. Hands slid palm-to-palm; Dean’s smile twitched, Castiel’s eyes soft on his.

Sam looked away to give them privacy, knowing Dean wouldn’t want him to see. Sometimes they held hands, that was almost normal now. Sam just let them get on with it.

He looked up. The sky was a beautiful blue, the clouds white and tumescent, the sun merciless yet fair. Sam shut his eyes and smiled. They’d go on from here, holding hands, travelling. Maybe they’d find a way to start a family someday. The three of them (and Charlie) had _futures_ lying in wait, futures to be spent together. Roads unwinding. The sky was open and their hearts were finally free.

{ **_the end_** }

**Author's Note:**

> ([tumblr rebloggy thing for this fic](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/92294840915/team-free-will-destiel-future-fluff-anyone))


End file.
